Adél Mihályi

When I woke up, everything was white. Like an empty canvas. First I thought that something had happened to me and I had ended up in a hospital during the night, but after looking around and noticing my furniture in my room, my heart calmed down, so I sent away all the questions like “What could have happened to me while I was sleeping?”.

I got up quickly and checked my calendar; it was Saturday. I brushed my teeth, then met my mom in the kitchen. Her hair was calm-pink, with a few reddish parts in it, just like the clothes she wore, but her shoes looked a little bit dark, hanging between the color of blood and soil. When she heard my steps, turned around, and wished me a good morning – just like a boomerang, the sentence ended up with her, then disappeared from the conversation, like it had never existed.

“I have to leave now,” she said, after spending a few minutes talking about the usual things. Her t-shirt suddenly became blurry-blue. “I need to work today, too. Tomorrow, we can spend the whole day together.” As she left the house, I saw her whole outfit getting darker and darker, almost as dark as the night sky; only her skin and hair stayed in their previous color.

As time flew by, I was getting bored. I could see everything around me as grey, but the road in front of our house was just like a liquid mix of the brightest colors. Standing in my window, on the border of the two extremes, I decided to explore a part of the colorful environment ­– so I went to the book shop, the centre of the rainbow for me.

On my way, most of the people were white; they melted into one milk-like blot. There were some I knew – small black, grey, bloodred, and pink dots in the clear smudge.

My eyes couldn’t take in the scene of my destination – too much, but never enough shades! I felt overwhelmed by them, but it was pleasing; I guess there weren’t any depressed-dark or irritatingly shining tones, just as every time I came here. I had been scrolling through the books for a while when I found a very special one. I grabbed it and read the title.

What are colors for?

I didn’t even go on to check the description, I knew that I had to buy it: it looked empty-white, but its weight was filled with emotions.

Just like me lying in my bed that night, covered with the light of my lamp. I seized my fresh acquisition, and finally took a look at its back.

What are colors for?

Except that they are pretty, we can use them to paint, to draw, or just to be amazed while watching them. Forget these things.

What are colors for?

Well, they can depict our lives.

It sounded… looked weird, but after putting the book down and looking at the ceiling, I noticed my emotions painting it as the opposite of the morning. It wasn’t empty anymore.

I could see my day becoming an abstract but realistic picture: my reality represented as the meaningful, beautiful chaos of colors.